Page 98 of Rat

“There’s no way.” He snorted without humour. “This is sick.”

He dragged his eyes off the page and looked at the neighbouring tables, all the same newspaper, all with Erica’s and Danny’s face on the front. Inmates tore right through her, and others tore around her and shoved her picture in their pockets for later.

Rory’s gut twisted, the breathlessness continued, and his heart skipped into overdrive.

The room swayed, and the noise of the classroom distorted, then sharpened, making him dizzier.

“Rory…newspaper,” Ollie said, no longer teasing but sounding impatient.

Rory couldn’t breathe. The room was crushing him from all sides, and the sound of tearing paper shuddered down his spine. Erica smiled at him. She looked just like their mother.

It had to be a joke; it was the only explanation that kept his heart beating. An evil, vindictive joke, but still a joke. Not real, fake, make-believe, pretend. It couldn’t be true. But no one was looking at him waiting to see his reaction, no one smirked or laughed at the emotional bludgeoning he’d just received. Everyone in the room was clueless.

“Are you okay?”

Ollie tried to take the newspaper back, but Rory pressed his forearms down. One on either side of Erica’s face. He stared down at her and started to shake. The page blotched, and he realized tears were escaping his eyes, but he didn’t feel them. They dropped around his sister, silently soaking the page. He was crying even though it wasn’t true; the joke had hit home, had landed with effect, and he was shaking, trembling as he tried not to draw attention to himself.

Whoever had done this, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing it had got to him.

Erica wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be.

“What is it?” Ollie asked, grabbing Rory’s arm.

“I’m ready to wake up now,” Rory whispered. “This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”

“What can’t be?”

“I want to wake up now.” Rory knocked the heels of his hands into his head. “Why the fuck aren’t I waking up?”

“You are awake,” Ollie said softly.

“I can’t be.”

“Do you know that girl?”

“She’s not dead,” Rory hissed. “If I’m not asleep, then this is a lie, she’s not dead, and this is a joke, a sick, fucking joke.”

Ollie pried the newspaper from under his arms, and Rory stared down at the table where Erica’s face had just been. He was breathing hard, trying not to pass out on the spot.

“Car crash,” Ollie whispered. “Almost three weeks ago…”

“It’s a sick, fucking joke. Who the hell would do this? Who the hell would pretend she was…”

“I’m sorry.”

Rory curled back his lip. His chest hurt. “Don’t say you’re sorry, don’t fall for it, it’s a lie. I don’t know who, and I don’t know why, but this isn’t true.”

The coiling sensation around lungs relaxed, and a tidal wave of anger rushed through his body. She wasn’t dead, but someone wanted him to think she was. Someone got pleasure out of tricking him, deceiving him, and he wanted them to pay.

“Come on,” Ollie murmured. “I’ll ask if we can go back to the wing.”

“I don’t want to go back to the wing,” Rory growled. “I want to know what bastard has done this. Who the hell is trying to get to me?”

“I don’t think anyone is.”

Rory snapped his head up. “Yes, they are!”

“Calm down, sweetheart.”

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